He found himself somehow transported across the room, though he didn’t remember walking, and his legs hit the bed. He fell back, Wepizi carefully not landing on top of him, but covering him anyway—like the day of the earthquake, he thought. The first earthquake, because this was surely another, and just as shocking and unprepared for.
Wepizi’s hands were still over him, but then he couldn’t stop touching Wepizi either.
“Covers,” Juimei murmured. When Wepizi seemed more intent on kissing him—which he didn’t mind, oh, not at all—he poked him in the ribs. “Covers. Cold. Winter. Frozen lover, bad idea.”
Wepizi grinned. “Your highness, it is not freezing in here.”
But he moved anyway, politely turned down the sheets and blankets, and invited Juimei to climb under them. Juimei felt a disobedient giggle rising up at Wepizi being so formal and polite, yet naked as a baby and sporting a most impressive...dress sword. He had to fight to stifle it, but it didn’t help when Wepizi stroked his moustache and waggled his eyebrows at him. A lover with a keen sense of the silly was terribly dangerous to his dignity.
Wepizi turned the lamp down to a dull glow, then got into bed beside him. It was much warmer under the covers, and once Juimei was wrapped tightly in Wepizi’s arms, the urgency died a little for them both. Wepizi was a cuddler, and Juimei adored being held, and stroked, and gently kissed. He adored other things as well, but this was something he had got far too little of from Mikinze. Tenderness was precious, and didn’t lead so quickly to sore bottoms.
Wepizi’s hands roved carefully but hungrily over Juimei’s body. Juimei allowed himself to explore that lean, almost too lean body, relishing the freedom to touch, revelling in being touched, being kissed with such gentle skill, and tickled by that ridiculous thing under Wepizi’s nose. Strange how quickly the art of dodging it had come back to him, and how much he didn’t mind it now, for all that he couldn’t help the echoes of Miki in the back of his mind.
Wepizi had to be dealing with far more painful memories. Please, Sephiz, if you can do anything at all, don’t let him regret this.
“You’ve put on more weight,” Wepizi murmured. “You’re looking very fine now, Jui.”
The honest praise warmed him more than any garland he’d won on the ito field. “All your doing. How long, Wepizi? How long have you been thinking of this?”
“Months, if I’m honest.”
“But why now? Why not before?”
Wepizi kissed him again, and held him closer. Juimei could feel his heart thudding against his own—how strange this sensation was after so long. How much missed.
“For a long time, I told myself I couldn’t do this.” Wepizi’s voice was a rumble echoing through Juimei’s body, deep and quiet. “Not just you, not anyone. That I could never feel anything for anyone again. But then I had to admit that was no longer true—that I could offer myself again, if I chose to. I still believed I shouldn’t. But tonight...looking at you, looking at Neime, I realised...I should. And there seemed no reason not to, anymore, except cowardice.”
“I’m not even sure it’s legal. Isn’t it against some kind of regulations?”
The moustache twitched as Wepizi smiled wryly. “I’m almost certain no regulations could have been framed for this. But it might make things awkward—for both of us.”
Juimei twisted and moved up a little, so he could look right into Wepizi’s eyes. “If you want to stop, stop now. If you’re worried about the effect on your job and your career, I understand. Just don’t let me lose your friendship. Not for this. This is...benevolent god, this is wonderful but...I need your friendship.”
Wepizi closed his eyes, then kissed Juimei’s forehead and mouth almost reverently. “I promise—that, you won’t lose.”
“Then I don’t give a damn about the rest of it.”
He didn’t know what Wepizi intended this evening. He was obviously aroused, obviously wanted him, but his stroking and caresses were more soothing than anything else, and if he wanted to take this slow, Juimei didn’t mind, not with the joy of being held, being touched—just being with someone.
“Do you...want to do something?” Juimei asked, sliding his hand down intimately, invitingly.
“Do you mind if we don’t? I...uh...would just like to be with you. Get used to it. I like this,” Wepizi added, sounded a little embarrassed at wanting such a simple pleasure.
“So do I, and no, I don’t mind.” Juimei chuckled suddenly. “Nuveize will be listening.”
“Yes,” Wepizi said, grinning back. “But then she can hear everyone in Dizeindo who might be having sex. She says she tends to try and ignore it.”
“This, she won’t ignore. Meddling old bitch. Ow.”
“What?”
Wepizi looked at him in concern as Juimei rubbed the back of his head.
“She’s listening all right.” “Run away, woman. You’ve done enough.”
“One day you’ll thank me, you ungrateful princeling. I’ve told Neime you probably won’t want to be disturbed in the morning.”
“I can organise this kind of thing on my own, madam. You just go and hold the mayor’s dignity for him.”
She laughed at him, and then he sensed she’d gone. No doubt she would listen in from time to time. He’d have to get used to it.
“She means well,” Wepizi murmured. “What you’ve done for her family, for her, means a good deal. She would do anything for you, if you needed it.”
“I appreciate that, but I don’t really want to talk about her. I don’t really want to talk at all. Can’t we just...enjoy this tonight?”
“Yes, we can. Are you comfortable? I’m on your bad side.”
Juimei laughed a little. “Not anymore, you’re not. Wepizi...no regrets. Please, just promise me that.”
“Not from me. I promise.”
Juimei wondered if that could really be true—whether if, in the morning, Wepizi would remember his wife and his grief, and think Juimei a poor replacement for either. But if he did, in the morning, Juimei would face it. For now, he would treasure this.
He reached up, and felt for Wepizi’s moustache, stroking it a little. It was so huge, and yet he wasn’t a hairy man at all. Juimei had more hair on his chest than Wepizi. “What are you doing?” Wepizi asked, sounding amused.
“Petting my playmate. He’s all messy.”
“Ah, but that’s half the fun of sleeping with someone. I don’t let just anyone mess it up, you know.”
“Ah...have you...?”
“Hmmm?” Wepizi still sounded amused, though a little sleepy.
“Have you let many...mess it up? Other men, I mean?”
“One or two. I’m no innocent. Neither are you.”
“And thank Sephiz for that.”
Wepizi laughed, and squeezed him. “Yes, I will. Good night, my dear highness.”
“Good night, Wepizi...don’t leave without saying goodbye, will you.”
Wepizi gripped his chin gently, and looked into his eyes. “I’ll be here in the morning,” he said, voice solemn. “And for longer, if you wish it. Do you?”
“One night—one day—at a time. I’ve learned not to make plans. Fate takes a misliking to them.”
Wepizi stroked his face, and kissed him, accepting, not pressing for more. Juimei could think of far worse things than waking up with him every morning for the rest of his life, but the last time he thought he wanted that, he lost it all.
He would never again make the mistake of assuming his future was safe. He was safe now, wanted now. That was enough.
Home Ground: 30
He had his nose buried in hair, and for once, it wasn’t his own—it was far too fine for that. Wepizi leaned back, remembered where he was, and smiled—it hadn’t been a dream, or a disaster. He’d been so afraid that Juimei would push him away, and that their friendship would be damaged by his recklessness. But Nuveize had been right, and so had his own observations—Juimei wanted him, cared for him, and had not pushed him aw
ay at all.
Juimei was smiling in his sleep. Wepizi found that irresistible, and had to lay a gentle kiss on the side of his prince’s mouth. He’d already discovered how much he liked watching Juimei sleep, liked how the frown he wore much of the time, disappeared. Juimei had wanted to know when this had started.
“Long ago,” he whispered. Probably even as far back as the earthquake, strange as it seemed. Lema, is this right? Can I really do this again, after you?
He’d spent weeks, months, examining his heart, talking to his beloved, and being unable to convince himself that she would consider it a betrayal. His scruples were things he alone had the burden of—he couldn’t blame her for his hesitation. He’d decided some time ago this was something he wanted, but could never seem to find the courage or the moment to bring it up. If Neime hadn’t decided to surprise them all—and his betrothed—last night, Wepizi would still be dithering. He was still a little amazed at his own boldness, but the hardest part was over now. At least Juimei knew. It had pained Wepizi to have to conceal such an important thing from someone who had become such a good friend.
And now...something more.
“You look very worried.” Juimei yawned and turned over to him. “What’s wrong?”
“Absolutely nothing,” he said, tugging Juimei closer to him to kiss him ‘good morning’.
Juimei kissed very, very well. It spoke of a good deal of experience. Wepizi couldn’t claim that, not with men, but it wasn’t so very different. Juimei wasn’t complaining, not so far anyway.
His hand roaming down Juimei’s body, discovered that one part of him at least was wide awake and demanding more than gentle kisses. Juimei ‘aahed’ as Wepizi put his hand on it.
“Oh, please,” Juimei breathed, turning eagerly towards him, pushing into his grasp. “Please, Wepizi.”
“No, wait.”
He shifted, found Juimei’s free hand, and brought it and his own down. He wrapped them around the proof of their mutual need, then he stroked, Juimei letting him guide the exquisite friction, while his mouth sought Wepizi’s again and demanded that his tongue be allowed to mimic the rhythm of their hands.
Legs entwined. Breathing got faster, and their bodies tensed as they focussed everything on hands and lips, Juimei’s other hand digging painfully hard into Wepizi’s arm. Urgent gasps, whispered pleas, as the intensity built unbearably in bodies long deprived of this touch, this sensation. Juimei cried out a little as he came, moments before Wepizi did, hot and desperate, almost painful pleasure and need melted into a single rush of feeling and release.
His body felt like a plucked wire, and his thoughts mere fragments, registering sensations without coherency—the scent of their passion, the heat of Juimei’s smooth skin against his own, the warm smell of their mingled breath. Slowly his body relaxed, his mind began to work again, and he realised Juimei held his arm like he was afraid he was going to fall off the bed. Wepizi, still a little breathless, kissed him, grinning.
“You’ll leave bruises.”
Juimei’s eyes were full of humour. “I don’t care.” He blinked, as if waking up from a dream. “Sephiz’s beard...it’s been a long time.”
“Yes. For me too.”
And now there was a mess, but Juimei had already thought of that. “Washcloth, on the basin. You may fetch it.”
Wepizi grinned as he mock-bowed. “Very good, your highness.” His prince kissed him, and tapped his nose for his impertinence. “I can see the hierarchy of authority is to be firmly established from the start.”
“I am a prince of the blood,” Juimei declared, clearly hiding an equally wide grin. “I do not clean up after sex.”
“Hmmm. I think there’s probably a regulation about tezreis too, but for now, I’ll let it pass.”
He climbed out of the bed, shivered a little even though the room was warm enough from the thermal vents, and found the cloth, which he wet and brought over to wipe Juimei down.
“I forgot to tell people where I was going,” he said thoughtfully.
“Wepizi, after that display last night, the whole of Dizeindo knew where you were going and what you were doing.”
Wepizi had to ruefully admit this was so. “Not very circumspect, was I?”
“No, not in the least. You and Neime must be brothers under the skin, I think. Come back to bed—I don’t want to get up yet.”
Neither did Wepizi, and the bed was welcoming and warm, as was the man in it. Amazing how quickly they had learned the knack of lying together comfortably.
“Neime looked so happy last night,” Wepizi said, remembering.
“He did. But I still want to spank him. Little bastard, surprising me like that.” Juimei sighed. “I need to do something for them. Setting them up in their own household is the very least I can do. I don’t suppose they’ll want to stay here if I leave.”
“At least you’re saying ‘if’, not when.”
Juimei found his hand. “That’s all I can say for now. I can’t promise ‘not at all’. I have my reasons. If I let this change my mind, I could regret it.”
Wepizi’s heart contracted a little—would he lose this just as he had found the courage to seize it?
“You might regret it if you don’t, but...I hope you will find another reason to decide against leaving.”
“So do I,” Juimei said, snuggling close.
Wepizi didn’t push it. He didn’t want a conflict this morning.
They lay peacefully together, holding each other and kissing for an hour or so, but then bladders and stomachs and other vulgar bodily demands meant they had to stir themselves. One urgency dealt with, Juimei rang for their breakfast. Wepizi was about to put his uniform back on. Juimei forestalled him.
“Wait—I have clothes you could wear. Could you not take this day as leave?”
“Yes, of course I can. I just didn’t have anything else to put on.”
Wepizi very rarely wore civilian clothing, because he was very rarely off duty and away from the barracks. It hadn’t always been that way. When Lema was alive, he’d dressed in mufti when he’d finished his shift, and they would slip out of the barracks and into the town like any other couple. He hadn’t had any reason to do that since she’d died. It was a jolt to realise that he might have to revive those habits for Juimei—not because he minded, just because he’d really thought he would never do so again.
He mentioned none of this as he found a warm shirt and trousers that would do, and a jacket Juimei urged upon him. The outfit was a little short in the leg, loose across the shoulders, but otherwise fitted surprisingly well.
“I need to get you out of uniform more often,” Juimei said, giving him an admiring once over. He himself had only pulled a robe on for now, but the room was more than warm enough.
“There are a couple of ways to take that, your highness.”
“Yes, I know,” Juimei said, leering at him with an arched eyebrow, and making Wepizi smile. “I’ll have someone send a message up to the barracks that you’ll be here today—unless you object?”
“Not at all. No one will be doing very much, except envying me the company and the surroundings.”
“Hmm, I doubt the former most highly.”
A knock at the door, and Gimoz came in, bowing. “Good morning,” Juimei said. “Breakfast for two—something hearty, if you please. Tea and drizu both.”
“Very good, your highness. Master Neime is still abed.”
Juimei smiled. “No doubt. Tell people to take it easy today. I’d declare it a holiday, except the house needs to be run, and I don’t suppose anyone would take any time off anyway.”
“One or two might, your highness. I’ll take the liberty of suggesting they do, anyway. Tezrei, if you wouldn’t mind, I’ll see to that.” With quiet efficiency, Gimoz scooped up Wepizi’s uniform and the clothes Juimei had been wearing the night before. “Is there anything else, your highness?”
“Yes—have someone take a message to the barracks that the tezrei will
be attending me today and won’t be returning until tomorrow. I...won’t be at work either today.”
“No, your highness.” Then Gimoz suddenly smiled at Wepizi. “It’s good to rest and reflect from time to time, is it not?”
“Yes, indeed, my friend. Thank you.”
Gimoz bowed and withdrew. Juimei turned to Wepizi.
“The staff approves, at least. Makes a change—Mikinze wasn’t very popular with my people.”
“I wonder why,” Wepizi said dryly.
Everything he’d heard about this count Juimei had been so devastatingly in love with, made him wonder what on earth Juimei had seen in him. But love very often didn’t take account of what was best for a person.
He remembered he didn’t have to just stand and look at Juimei anymore. He could—and did—take him into his arms and lay his cheek against his lover’s.
“Now we just have to face Nuveize and the rest of them.”
“Oh, they’ll be delighted,” Juimei said with a wry expression. “But I need to convince Nuveize to leave Frankel alone. If he takes against her and the Blessed because of her games, it’ll make life difficult for them.”
“She won’t do that,” Wepizi declared with perfect certainty. “She would never do anything to hurt them.”
“Perhaps not, but Frankel looked quite besotted last night. I know she’s not interested in him.”
“No, but I trust her to know what she’s doing. She’s older than either of us.”
“And a damn sight meaner too,” Juimei said, rubbing his head thoughtfully again. “I feel like...we should do something today...something different. Something unprincely.”
“Maybe a snowball fight?” Juimei gave him an old-fashioned look. “A sled ride?”
“Just the two of us?”
Home Ground (Darshian Tales #4) Page 66